


Midnight in Soho

by Sabrielle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, hot chocolate and dancing ensues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabrielle/pseuds/Sabrielle
Summary: You find yourself lost on a stormy evening in Soho, London. Good thing that bookstore is still open…





	Midnight in Soho

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little self indulgent piece about the reader happening upon Aziraphale and Crowley at the bookstore one evening

You were lost.

It was a rainy weekday evening in downtown London, perfect for perusing cosy storefronts, or so you thought. The umbrella had come in handy. A sturdy thing, it had unfortunately failed to save you from the sheets of flying puddle water produced by passing cars. In the end you had become quite wet. Wandering the Soho area you had spent hours looking for a gift. Finally you had become quite turned around, and what's more, you were still gift-less. It was beginning to go on to dinner time, and many of the shops had begun to close. With a slight tinge of panic urging you on, you fixed your direction onto the nearest glow of light. Relieved to see that the small sign on the door still read OPEN, you stepped inside and gingerly shook out your umbrella. 

It was a little shop, which could only be properly described as quaint. Shelves of old books crowded the walls, in a comforting sort of way. A staircase wound upstairs on your left and a warm glow seemed to permeate the rest of the room. You couldn't see anyone else, but soft voices were eminating from deeper in the shop. Where was the owner? Many of the folios and books lining the walls looked to be incredibly aged. You tried browsing through some of the titles to be polite, but curiosity won out in the end. Making your way through the store, you followed the voices around several teetering shelves to a room at the back. The door was mostly closed and silhouetted in light. Pushing it open ever so slightly you peered inside. 

Two men chatted in another cozily set room, also filled with shelves of books and other small oddities. One sat at a table, sipping, what appeared to be, whiskey from a glass. He was dressed all in whites, warm browns and soft creams. Across from him another man dressed in black gesticulated wildly with his empty glass, red hair catching the light.

… really do not think that is the reason why the Almighty chose to create penguins…" The man in white sipped his whiskey primly and shook his head. "Now if you take the North Pole for example…" 

Neither of them seemed to notice the person standing in the doorway.

You coughed, unsure of what to say. Suddenly you were questioning if you had even read the OPEN sign right. 

The lively conversation stuttered to a halt as both men turned to you. The red haired man's eyes flashed as he nodded your way. Was that a trick of the light? Or were they actually yellow?

"You forgot to flip the sign Angel." The man slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses before making a shooing motion towards you. "The shop is closed," the s's caught between his teeth in a slight hiss, "come back tomorrow."

The man in white hushed his companion. "Now, now Crowley." He spoke like you were a wet cat brought in from the rain. "Look at the poor thing, they're soaking wet. We simply cannot throw them back outside…" 

The man called Crowley gave you an appraising look from over the top of his sunglasses, treating you to a clear view of his yellow irises. "I suppose not." 

You had the distinct impression that Crowley was only saying that to humour his companion. If this had been his shop you had a feeling the CLOSED sign would always be up at 7 PM and not a second later.

"Thanks." You said cautiously, as you stood, dripping onto a carpet that looked dangerously expensive. The man in white tutted and bustled over to you, producing a towel that you were almost certain he hadn't been holding before… 

"You can call me Aziraphale," he said motioning you to sit in his recently vacated seat "and this is… my visiting compatriot, Crowley." 

You both watched as Crowley poured himself another finger of whiskey. Aziraphale frowned but said nothing, instead he turned back to you. "Could I perhaps interest you in some tea? To warm yourself up?" 

"Whiskey works wonders in that regard." Crowley tipped his glass to you from where he leant against a shelf, sunglasses perched at the end of his sharp nose. 

Before you could respond Aziraphale patted your hands "Actually, I know just the thing." In a moment he was out the door and you were left sitting puzzled at the small table.

"I was just looking for a gift, really." You said, to no one in particular. 

"There are worse gifts than a book, I suppose," Crowley's tone was conversational. He turned to the shelf behind him, running his hand along the spines. "Fitzgerlad, Hemmingway, Stein, Eliot, Hughes…"

"Actually," you murmured "I think she likes Shakespeare"

"Oh," Crowley's tone immediately soured. "Not... Hamlet?" 

You nodded. "How did you know?..."

"It's a classic!" Aziraphale startled you as he placed a steaming cup of cocoa on the table. You hadn't even heard him come in.

"It's rubbish is what it is." Crowley was flipping idly through a hard cover book. "What a dismal gift. Here you go, I think so much of you that I brought you the most awful book I could find on short notice." He glared at Aziraphale "Its a miracle the play attracted as much attention as it did." 

Aziraphale frowned again, deeper this time as he laid out biscuits alongside the cocoa. 

"Now," Crowley continued " A Midsummer Night's Dream. That's real entertainment, or Twelfth Night. You have so many good ones to choose from, don't settle for… Hamlet." His lips curled back in a sneer.

"Ok…" you conceded "but she _likes_ Hamlet."

"Well," Crowley shrugged "sometimes you just have to save people from their own poor decisions." He squinted meaningfully at Aziraphale before turning back to the book shelf.

You raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale, but it seemed neither of them was willing to acknowledge it. Instead of pushing the topic further you sipped your hot chocolate lightly. " _What and odd pair_ " you thought to yourself, " _sweet, but odd_ ". 

Aziraphale coughed. "Was there, ah, something I could help you with? It would be my pleasure to aid in your gift-picking." His smile was sweet and sincere. "Hardly proper of me to send you out of here empty handed. I have quite the collection of early Shakesperian editions..."

The echo of Crowley's unmistakable groan of annoyance punctuated Aziraphale's final statement comically.

"Of course," you replied with a laugh and a meaningful glance "how could I refuse?"


End file.
